Just back from the cows who were standing in a huddle in the middle of their field, hence the not-brilliant photos:
My brother is here – back from Abroad – and we’re sitting on the sofa with the panther wedged between us, resting his head on my feet. It’s hot in the glass parental home: 20 degrees still at 6pm. We seem to be watching the golf, which brother says is “restful” – due to the green grass, the slow pace, the gentle clapping and the soft sounds of the putting. “What I really enjoy about it is the slow, grinding disappointment of it all,” brother says.
Other achievements of the day include:
1. Pushing self hard at Spin – see attached outfit photo.
2. Coffee with my chum after Spin.
3. Washing self and hair.
4. Lunch with Lily for the first time in ages.
5. A long afternoon sleep.
The anxiety wren is still there, fluttering around my stomach, but her wings beat quietly now on the Clonazepam. And it’s so amazing to see my brother.
Happy Sunday everyone!
*1923. By Agatha Christie. Hercule Poirot detective novel in which a body is found on a golf course.